The Extravagant Epic of Fred and George
by litill Hnappur
Summary: Fred and George come to a breaking point as the struggle to uncover the truth between them comes to a fiery point. And of course, the truth is inevitable... Original plot generally disregarded, rated for cumulative content.
1. Innocence

_**The Extravagant Epic of Fred and George**_

* * *

><p><strong>Epic<strong>

[ep-ik]

–adjective

Noting or pertaining to a long poetic composition, usually centered upon a hero, in which a series of great achievements or events is narrated in elevated style.

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><p><strong>Part One: Innocence<strong>

Fred and George Weasley were gallivanting- taking a reprieve, if you will, from their nine year old baby brother and eight year old little sister; wanting to make use of their wits in solitude. They had to plan something truly spectacular to say goodbye to their Mother: after all, they were departing in a week to Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry.

Fred lay opposite of his twin in the sweeping amber grass, his hands casually under his head as he stared absentmindedly at the passing clouds.

"Ey, Georgie," he said, plucking a sprig of clover carelessly.

"What's that, Fred?" Replied the twin, who was lying on his stomach and inspecting the path of a wandering beetle.

"Things are going to be different now," Fred said, "You know that."

"Different how?" Asked George disinterestedly.

"With us going off and all that," Said Fred, sitting up and turning towards his twin. "No more Ron or Ginny, or anything of the like."

"It's not a fair trade," Replied his brother, "We get Percy so soon as we arrive."

This made Fred laugh. He lay back down and stared upwards.

"But things really are going to change," He said to himself, "I'll make them."

"Oh?" Said George, suddenly taking interest.

"Right," His twin said, "We're going to make something real big of ourselves, Georgie. You wait and see, eh? We'll get up bright every morning and stir something up so everyone knows we're there."

A whisper of excitement began to well in George's belly, he sat up and leaned forward, beaming at his brother,

"We'll give 'em the hell we can't raise around here," He said.

"And then we'll show them that us Weasley boys are Masters of Mischief," Said Fred, "Because we're not appreciated around here, are we?"

The other boy laughed, "Right. Mum skins us alive every time we breathe funny near the little' uns."

"Hmm," His fellow trickster said, as if in revelation, "We did tell her we'd be on our best behavior, didn't we, George?"

His brother hesitated, and then smiled widely. He leaned forward and whispered;

_'When has that ever stopped us before?'_

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><p>It was night, the eve before departure. Neither Weasley boy could sleep, though they weren't quite aware of each other. The new beds their Mum had just gotten them didn't mean much, now that they were leaving. At least Ginny would now have a room of her own as she awaited the call of her wizarding career.<p>

After a painful minute of silence, Fred whispered into the darkness, "_George?"_

When at first no reply came, Fred turned on his side and buried his face into his threadbare quilt, gathering the scent for safekeeping (he'd keep it near his heart, where it would be safe.) He was vying, desperately, for comfort.

He heard the sounds of his brother's gentle footsteps.

"Fred," Murmured his twin, "I swore I heard my name, Freddie. Can you not sleep either?"

He sighed in immense relief and turned around, pulling his brother by his sleeve into the bed beside him.

"Sleep here tonight, Georgie," He mumbled into his brother's shoulder, "I'll never get to rest knowing you're all the way over there." George didn't hesitate to settle in, jostling his twin until the perfect amount of space between them was reached.

And just as quickly as they'd nestled into bed they were asleep, and inevitably, in each other's arms.

* * *

><p>For the two troublesome Weasley twins, everything went better than expected. Once assimilated into the whirlwind of Hogwarts activity, magic became a powerful tool in their arsenal of mischief. They interpreted every jinx and potion as something to potentially drive their commonmates crimson with irritation.<p>

More importantly, they remained constantly together. Despite a quietly harbored fear of impending separation, George did not discard Fred in the academy's current of people. And although George was sure Fred would likewise lose interest in him, he kept his brother in his pocket throughout the year.

In the beginning, everything was perfect.


	2. Coincidence

****Part Two: Coincidence**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Coincidence<strong>

[koh-in-si-dens]

-noun

A striking occurrence of two or more events at one time by chance; often invoking abnormal cirsumstance.

* * *

><p><strong>...<strong>

The darkness was indomitable, impervious to moonlight and unaffected by the quiet thoughts ushered in silence that morning would soon come. These were the nights in which the twins laid awake, staring into the murk of shadow and wondering if their eyes might meet in secret across the room. Some nights, one might brave to ask.

"George," Fred whispered the name barely audible on his lips. But George was awake, and thinking. He exhaled slowly as his surprised stomach settled, and reached for his brother's wrist. The bed wheezed as the second twin was pulled down, and the two wrestled with the blankets until they were comfortably facing each other, swathed in cloth. They were silent for a few moments, comforted by the breath they felt on their faces.

"Fred," whispered the first twin, his eyes now confidently closed. Fred smiled without thinking and shuffled lightly inward before nodding his head, his forehead brushing against his brothers. "I'm going crazy," continued George, "Sleeping alone, that is. I got too used to our old room over the summer." Fred took a moment to respond, relaxing into the sheets.

"We'll get past it, Georgie. We did it before." Fred put an arm limply over his brother's neck and breathed deeply, turning his head quietly towards the ceiling.

"Barely, Fred," he said slowly, "Not that I'm worried. Perhaps just a bit nervous."

George would have normally laughed this off, but he was becoming contentedly drowsy. His nose brushed the nape of his twin's neck, and moved anxiously to the side; as if afraid his brother would notice him there

Lying there, now with an uncomfortable distance to remind them of the forced wedge their school was beginning to fabricate. Neither of them wanted to confess that it would be entirely unorthodox for them to stay as they were. Through no means of reason, simply the pressure of time, Fred rolled over.

"Well," He said quietly, "You sleep well, Georgie. Don't forget I'm only a step off to your right." George hoped it was too dark for Fred to see his expression of pensive distress. What his brother said did not reassure him: he didn't believe they would be the same without each other.

Things were not going to be the same, but they could not predict the chaos the near-future would bring them. They, of course by nature, would likely have ignored the warning anyhow. The mayhem soon to befall the twins was largely due to a startling serious of _coincidences._ Begin with Filius Flitwick's morning tea-time coinciding with the closing hours of the tea-shoppe, and therefore a lack of brew. This was the first time he had run out in the morning hours (purely of happenstance, of course) and the first time, consequently, that the twins were interrupted in a passageway of time thought sacred to them. Their pyres and fuses were abandoned in haste, and the third year children filed as quickly as their legs could usher them into the secret corridor adjacent to their own. The bricks within this corridor (funny how they do so,) had moved within the night, and by chance had turned the tunnel into little more than a covered alcove. It was there they realized they were cornered, and it was there, coincidentally, where they came to closest they had to each other since their quiet meeting in the first week of that year.

They were instantly silenced, tense and nervous for the sounds of their discovery. They had already received several threatening admonitions for their behavior, and as early second years they were not eager to abandon their mischief to detention so soon.

Fred fought George against the wall, eyes trained on the entrance. They were dangerously close to the open hall, and the sound of panicked breath as bound to give them away. There was a single moment, during that eclipse of suspense and apprehension, in which one of the twins forgot that they were crowding in there for a reason. His breath had been seized in his throat, and his stomach sank as if it were suddenly heavier. He stared at his brother; who was fixated on the spot the tapestry covered the entrance. Their chests were tight against eachother, Fred's hand clasping at George's collar as if afraid he might fall and sound their presence. He was nervous and tense, more so than usual when they hid. He couldn't fathom the feeling, but he wasn't afraid of being caught, but of being seen: like this with his twin. The notion was ridiculous, and so forthrightly unsettling he actually opened his mouth to put it at ease. Fred's eyes detected the movement an instant before it happened and smashed his hand against his brother's mouth, rougher than was necessary. George flinched because the notion was abrupt, but as if in revelation became still and quiet. They could hear Filius pausing in the outside corridor. He was so close to their refuge that they could hear him mumbling under his breath; they could even make out a word or two. It seemed an eternity before his steps continued up the hallway. As George's nerves softened, he reached up and slowly took his brother's hand from his mouth observing with uncomfortable detail the way his fingers felt when they separated from where they were mashed against his skin. They made eye contact, and for an indistinguishable reason, it was uncomfortable.

"How did that happen?" Said Fred, though the reason wasn't entirely important. "I was sure nobody came down this hall this time of day."

"They don't," mumbled George, though obviously someone had.

In a gesture of good will, Fred grabbed his twin's hand and gave it a soft squeeze.

"We'll finish it yet," He said, "We've only to find a new hallway."

George pulled away from him. He hesitated, not knowing why he had done it but regretting it instantly. Fred looked reproachful.

Why was this happening now?


	3. Candescence

**Part Three: Candescence**

* * *

><p><strong>Candescence<strong>

[Kan-des-uhnse]

-adjective

Glowing as if by heat, radiating warmth or passion.

* * *

><p><strong>...<strong>

Fred and George Weasley, by no knowledge of their own, began to play an extravagant game of pretend. Both of them knew something was wrong, but neither could even think of confronting it. What could be wrong between a pair that never left each other's sights? George in particular was careful around his brother, and particularly well in showing he was in good spirits when he was not. George felt Ill quite often, nowadays.

Both were avidly waiting for summertime.

Their reputation had flourished to infamy by just the end of the second year. They were well liked. Lee Jordan became close to the boys, and they found the atmosphere very relaxed when he was talking in that warm voice, a barrier between them.

There was a point sometimes, at night in the common room. All would have been off to sleep by then, but the Twin's often had plans past sun-down. They would confer on the weathered sofa, the room dim because the embers were dying. In their scheming, hushed voices they would plan shenanigans as casual as if anywhere else. Their mayhem was becoming second-nature, not so much tricks, but means of amusement. They were almost duty-bound to liven up the school.

Yet, this wasn't what was important about these nights. It was the time they were truly together, inhibitions abandoned. They would talk without looking at each other, without needing to. Sometimes their conversation would stray to their family and their friends, or even their life. It was nice there in the quiet, nobody to impress.

And once every so often their hands, soft from the warmth of the room, would brush; and both of them would pretend not to take notice.

It made that time special.

Summer was exhilarating. The twins made fast with their other siblings, becoming their good friends as well as their greatest enemies. This was the way they wanted it.

It wasn't until a warm night in July, the air heavy with frogsong outside that there was incidence between the brothers. Fred was reading lazily, not entirely focused on the words but enjoying it all the same. George was standing at the open window bent put his face out.

"It's wonderful tonight, Fred," he said, coming back in, "We should keep the window open."

"Fine by me," Said the latter without looking up. George sat heavily at the foot of his bed.

"School is nice and everything, but this is where I want to be, right here," She said contemplatively. Fred didn't respond. He seemed absorbed.

"You know," George continued, "With mum and dad and Ron and everything."

Fred still didn't seem to notice.

"And you."

His sibling glanced over the top of his pages at last and made eye-contact with him. He set the book gently down beside him and sat up, stretching as if he were bored. George pushed him lightly and said, "What's your knot? You've been ignoring me half the night." Fred mumbled something and looked absently at the ceiling. "C'mon mate, I couldn't have done something," George coaxed, gripping his brother's shoulder as if to trap him there. Fred jerked his shoulder, but George was firm. When Fred gave a solid heave to try and free himself from his brother's clutches, he only succeeded in topping backwards onto the bed sheets, and taking George with him. He huffed as he landed on his brother's chest, his cheek pressed into his neck. He raised himself slightly, face fully flushed. Fred's expression was inscrutable, surprised maybe, or tense.

George wanted to apologize, but his throat seemed to have clenched up, and he felt immobilized. He was painfully conscious of where his brother's shirt had ridden up and a sliver of their skin was touching. He held his breath.

Fred was watching him, but he wasn't sure in what way. His gaze seemed elsewhere, aimed at him, but not focused. It unnerved him. His arms began to tire slightly where they were holding him up, and he gave way a little. Fred seemed to notice this. Then George, weak with nerves, abruptly buckled, and he found himself hovering an uncomfortably slight distance over his brother. Immediately he moved to pull back, face flushing even darker than before. Fred's face remained unchanged as he caught him by the wrist, holding him in place. For a moment, nothing moved.

He reached around his brother and slowly entangled his hands in his hair, closing his eyes. George's heart skipped a beat. He lowered his eyes gradually, focusing on the electricity he felt running down the back of his neck. His cheek came to rest against his brother's neck and he was silent. As if the moment were an animal, he was nervous he might frighten it away.

He could hear his twin's breath against his ear, smooth as if uncaring. George couldn't fathom where his mind was. He looked at him so well as he could, regarded the faint pulse of his neck. Their eyes connected, and the dim quiet became suddenly a blur, vague, indiscriminant. They shifted to make better use of the gaze, lining almost perfectly against each other. There was only a moment in-between that one and the next in which George was fully able to question what was happening.

Their mouths met abruptly, pressing firm and undaunted. A jolt went immediately through his stomach. He would like nothing better to completely shut off the world and immerse himself in this fantasy, but his mind was working at full capacity, hyper focusing on details, _jarring_ him to face the reality he was in. He noticed with excruciating clarity that his brother's lips fit perfectly against his own. George, of course, hadn't the slightest hint of experience as to how to conduct oneself in a situation such as this… but it was easy, simple even. Fred's upper lip slid in-between his top and bottom, and slowly parted from there, and George felt for the first time that he was trembling. Not his arms, nor his shoulders but his chest. He dropped his face over his brother's shoulder into the pillow, his cheeks burning against the crisp, indifferent fabric.

In another instant the lights were out. George felt his brother's arm fall carelessly back to the bedside. His heart, pounding as if the hoof beats of a tottering horse, began slowly to subside. He didn't move (he didn't dare,) and the night passed as if it were crawling.

Neither had a thing to say the following morning. The brief candescence of the previous nights incident was entirely ignored, (purposefully so, George could tell, when they neared each other and the air turned electric) and pushed off as if imaginary. George, who was at first displaced, said nothing. It was disregarded so vivaciously, that as time passed George began to doubt if it had really happened. If not for the torturously vivid memory he'd retained of it, he might have dismissed it altogether.

It became clear as letters on paper that they would not mention it to one another. An unspoken contract with which condemnation poured like wax upon an envelope, and was stamped solid with silence. In only a breath of time, the idea of resurfacing the event was absurd.

It was no secret, for secrets are kept.

It was a filthy, unobserved unimportant incident.

And George began to long for it again.


	4. Vehemence

**Part Four: Vehemence**

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><p><strong>Vehemence<strong>

[Ve-he-munce]

-Adjective

Forcefulness of expression or intensity of emotion; fervid.

* * *

><p>Their quiet, distant hostility continued to their Sixth year. George was waiting, without realizing it, for the unseen tension to break. He would never have known how often his heart was aching.<p>

He and Fred were cruising through the school year. Though forced into the same routines as anyone else, they insisted on breathing life into it. They were a welcome presence.

For the teachers, on the contrary, they were absolute terrors. More often than not, the Weasleys were detained in detention. In a twist of sardonic rebellion, they used these times above the others to plot. On the surface, everything was pristine.

But every once in a while, the disquiet fermented.

…

Fred tossed his brother a butterbeer, the glass frosty from a chilling charm. "Thanks mate," He said nonchalantly, his feet up to absorb the heat from the fire. It was near euphoric, a warm fire and cold butterbeer. He tugged his brother by his arm to the seat next to him on the sofa. The elves had come in to mend it, and the springs were taught and new. They sighed as he sat down, swinging his arms behind his head. "I didn't expect that to go so well," Fred said as he relaxed into the cushions. "Sneaking the raging rowlers, that was a risk, eh?" George shrugged and withheld a satisfied smile. It had been his idea.

"I almost feel bad," He lied, "McGonagall has never done us any wrong."

"She should know better than to teach at a school with us in it," Fred said, "I don't even know what she was expecting."

George smiled into his glass as he took a contemplative sip. He was certainly feeling the status of being a fifth year. He felt someplace inside him that is was odd, Fred sitting so far away from him. He never voiced these thoughts. He sighed gently and tilted his wand towards the fire, gently murmuring the combustion incantation. The fire hissed as if angry, but then roared to a fuller glow.

There was a moment of mutual silence that seemed oddly forced. As if compelled to break it, Fred said,

"Not that categorizing flame size with you isn't great, but I think I'm ready for some sleep." George stifled a yawn (he didn't want to appear too tired himself,) and waved his brother off. He needed to do some thinking.

Yet… even as George decided with complete presence of mind to stay there alone in the dormitory, he argued with himself to leave. He knew what would happen, it was always the same.

First, he began to relax utterly. He would close his eyes and stop focusing on the nuances that usually tugged at his attention unceasingly. He would then let himself sink unreservedly into the soft fabric of the sofa and give his mind liberty to wander. As if entirely free of himself, he manifested his memories, thoughts and desires until he could nearly feel their presence surging just beyond his closed gaze… But when the urge struck and his eyes flit open and all of it was gone.

He sat, quietly staring forward into the fire. There, he saw faces, brief and flowing like water. Above the unrecognized smiles of strangers and expressions of individuals so familiar they nearly blended into the background of his imagination, he saw his brother. He saw the only person that knew him even a fathom past what he presented to the surface world. Because of this, when he looked into his brother, he saw himself. The craving at that point hit him as if a sheet of ice water had been sloshed over his head. His hands twitched where they were previously lifeless in his lap, his expression compacted softly.

He closed his eyes as if it would ease the burden, or perhaps the world were kinder when you could not see it. His twin's voice became excruciating clear in his head then, easier to conjure than his own. Accessible as if by touch, present like a guilty conscience.

And like a crash from great heights he was himself, alone, silent in a room long abandoned by people with other places to be. That included Fred. The silence and the absence then became so heavy, so pregnant with implication that he forced himself to his feet. He felt as if wading through water attempting to reach the stairwell…

And so soon as the first foot was up that he again convinced himself the places his thoughts traveled to were unremarkable, he himself at his best and his usual, and everything was looking up as it always did for either of the Weasely twins.

It was simply too fragile to go on as it was.

…

George challenged his perception of reality when he challenged his brother. This was because his brother, Fred Weasley, was all that he knew. All that he wanted to know. Though it would have taken a good deal of reflection to admit it, Fred felt the same way. They each knew that an elaborate charade was taking place every day of their ordinary lives. George was more conscious of this game of pretend than his brother; there were times where he thought of little else. He did not have the same barrier between himself and his true ambitions, as did Fred.

It was not as if he had sat in the common room and planned the confrontation, nor was it something that occurred of impulse born of the moment. It was something that had remained dormant in George, left to boil and fester under the skin where it was just out of sight. A part of him felt that it was coming to an apex. The very part of him that insisted he convince his brother of eluding the professors and finding the corridor within which they had hid a portion of galleons. He hadn't the slightest idea what he would do from that point.

The darkness of said tunnel was inviting. They had found it with relative ease knowing that it was in the east wing and approximately above the library. As they stepped in, they were greeted with a rush of crisp cool air and the grate of stone that sounded as the tunnel closed itself. Fred voiced his quiet doubts that this was the correct passageway, but they knew it was. There no others to check.

George tensed and waited for the sound of Fred drawing his wand. As his brother's cloak rustled, he extended a hand and just barely caught an edge of fabric. Fred froze immediately, tuned well to his brother in the darkness.

"George," He said under his breath, "What is it mate, do you hear something?" George was tense for a moment, and a silence gripped his throat as if to strangle him. He felt for his brother's other arm and eventually clutched it, trying to sense where they were in the void. He stood, both hands on his brother's arm and an expectant stillness chilling the air. He felt suddenly so foolish- what had he planned to say? He recalled the nights alone, the passing pangs he felt when they made lingering eye contact, the repressed impulses and he harnessed them.

"Just hold on a moment, Fred." He murmured, patting along his forearm until he felt his shoulder and paused there.

"Mate, what is it," Fred said with a tone of impatience to mask that he was feeling a tad uncomfortable. It was bad trouble-making to hesitate at a scene of crime. George leaned forward just close enough to sense the heat of his twin in front of him.

"I said," He whispered, "Just hold a moment."

A silence branched from the moment that encompassed the entire corridor. Fred seemed to pull himself away from the world for the split second it took him to see George's. He very tentatively clasped his brother and said, softer this time,

"Mate?"

George sighed as if in relief. It was very difficult to pull his brother down to his level. He allowed his head to gently meet with his brother's chest, the two standing as if in the aftermath of terrible news. Fred uncertainly squeezed his sibling's shoulder and moved to lift his chin. They were very aware of one another's presence.

"Don't you…" George ventured, "Don't you ever think much, mate? Outside of yourself?"

Fred's eyebrows flickered indecisively. He decided George hadn't meant it as an insult.

"What's that mean exactly, Georgie? I think a lot," He said, "I hope you don't mean to call me empty-headed, that hur-"

"What I meant, Fred," George interrupted softly, "Was; aren't you ever taken from yourself, when your thoughts seem to move of their own accord," He didn't seem to quite know how to complete his thought. "And you're just a witness to them, to what they want?"

"No," Fred lied, "What's this all about?"

"How strange is it," George said softly, "That I should miss you when I'm with you every day."

Fred hesitated before answering, his silence insinuating that this meant something to him.

"What a daft thing to say," He whispered, barely audible.

"Stranger yet how much time I waste thinking about you when you're straight next to me."

Fred's fingers closed tight over his brother's shoulder.

"Have you gone, mental, George?" He hushed, "What on earth are you getting on about?"

"As if you don't do it," He bit, "As if you don't sense a void when we're not front with one another. Good Godric Fred, I've known you since birth, you think I can't read you?"

Surprised and a bit embarrassed, Fred didn't think as he gave his incensed reply,

"A line like that could only come from George Weasley. Don't you ever think I get sick of you?"

George drew back as if he were hit. Fred grimaced in the dark, he regretted the bit instantly.

"Oh… Oh, Georgie," He murmured, feeling forward, "George, I… I mean, I never,"

George's back abruptly met the wall. He closed his eyes and put his hands against the chalky stone, taking a deep breath before his brother found him. Fred fumbled for his twin, latching on instantly when he felt the heat of his flesh. He put his forehead against the wall so that their heads were lightly brushing. George relished the sound of his breath. "I'm sorry," He muttered.

"Fred, come here," He whispered in return. His twin shifted quietly in the dark, his rustling cloak the only evidence of his movement. George could sense him directly in front of him.

"We really need to talk, mate," Fred said, startling George as he revealed there was barely a gap between them.

George opened his mouth to respond when his upper lip brushed his twin's gently, and he retracted, blushing terribly. He felt choked again. Fred continued to hover, the silence agreeing with him. The hands gripping George's shoulders tightened and he only knew his twin was approaching when he heard his sleeves crease at the elbow. He advanced until their lips grazed again, then lingered agonizingly close. George closed his eyes, his stomach lurching, absolutely paralyzed. That single moment distorted into a thousand and he felt lightheaded by their burden. He staggered suddenly forward, surprising his brother who retreated half a step backwards. He collided into him until they met against the opposite wall where, as if his inhibitions suddenly ceased to exist, he pressed him into a vehement kiss.

Everything that had gone unsaid in two years time was suddenly rushing forward, channeling itself into a raw, undaunted energy. Fred's cloak came loose of his shoulders in the ardor, and slid to the middle of his back. George discarded his own without a thought; it suddenly seemed so cumbersome and inconvenient. As if Fred had been waiting years for this moment, he responded fervently, taking ahold of his brother's chin and forcing it upwards, his lips turning hot against his neck. George clasped one hand around Fred's shoulder as if to restrain him, but lifted his head receptively. In the blur of sensation, he was sure he'd had a fantasy of this.

Fred was mumbling into his brother's collar, his face perceptibly warm through the fabric. For a moment, he wondered where he was. It was almost a consciously ridiculous thought.

He grasped for his brother's cheeks and turned him to eye level, grateful for the darkness that hid his absolute disarray. He wanted to be taken seriously.

"Fred," He said quietly, "We have to talk."

The twin audibly swallowed the lump in his throat and took a solid moment to catch his breath.

"Yeah…" he murmured, "We really do." Bottom of Form


	5. Decadence

**Decadence**

**[Dek-ah-Dense]**

**-noun**

**Indulgence without restraint or in excess.**

* * *

><p>Fred and George did not stop to speak to each other. They did not, in fact, make it so far as their room. The moment the twins passed under the cover of a dimly light corridor, they had stopped. George had his brother pressed against the cool glass of a window, the white-blue light from the moon outside creeping onto their skin. George sunk his lips deep into Fred's collar, feverishly gripping his cheek to keep him there. They were only semi-conscious that they were not entirely secluded, and their gentle effort to remain silent was failing. Each shallow breath kept catching in their throat, and slight sounds escaped into the hall. George pressed his hand against roughly his brother's mouth, hanging his head to catch his breath. Fred was looking over the nape his brother's neck, his glazed expression absorbed by the wall. He slowly brought up his own hand and pressed it over the hand silencing him, kissing it. George looked up.<p>

"Fred. C'mon mate, what are we doing?" He said gruffly.

The latter responded by grabbing him around the shoulders firmly and kissing him hard.

"Let's be off," He said, slightly out of breath, "Before this turns into something."

"Bloody, hell, Freddie, you don't think it has?"

The silence that followed was painful.

"You've thought about this."

It wasn't a question. George slowly, almost relaxed, lifted his head to the ceiling until it rested on the cool stone behind him.

"Often," He admitted gently.

Fred was seemed to be contemplating this. He had his own chin dropped so his brother could not catch him in the eye.

"…Right," He said at last. This left George feeling unsatisfied, vaguely.

Foosteps.

The two were suddenly animated, moving quickly away from their retreat and down the hall. With any luck they'd be out of sight before they were spotted in the disheveled state they were in. such was the heat coming from George's face, he was sure he'd be declared ill and sent off to the medical wing.

They realized, after the sound had persisted after them for some time, that they were not being followed, but coinciding on the path of another Gryffindor. Of course, it was a late hour for all three of them to be returning to the common room.

They veered. This hall, mostly unused and with an unfortunate echo, welcomed them into another comfortable dimness. Internally, George was happy. He did not want this to be cut off by returning to the crowded expanse of their room.

"Mate," Fred said quietly. "I…"

There was a choking snap to his voice, he cut off.

George slowly lowered his head into his twin's collar. He didn't want Fred to have to speak. It dawned on him slowly that they weren't going to speak in any manner. He realized simultaneously that they did not need to. He raised his head and kissed his brother on the chin, softly. He felt Fred tense and retracted. Fred's face seemed surprised he did so, and agonized in chorus. He gripped George tight about the shoulders and kissed him to apologize. It transitioned slowly into a soft, deep, motionless instant, but with the lingering, shattering presence of its original force. George murmured softly against his lips. Fred parted with what seemed like genuine effort and let his head fall downward to his brother's shoulder. His breathing was heavy.

"George," He exhaled, "I'd have you here if I could." George stiffened with the sudden heat in his face and nearly fell backwards. His brother, who had a death grip on him, simply followed. "Mate!" He exclaimed. "Damn it." He had him suspended there, holding up all of his weight. As if in afterthought he added, "I'm… Sorry I shouldn't have-"

"Can't you?" George abruptly demanded. "Who could see us here? Who could really?"

Fred bit his lip, surprised and ashamedly aroused by his brother's eagerness, and he heaved him forward, bringing both up to a standing position.

"I think we more have to worry about who would hear, Georgie," He muttered. "Calling your name for the rest of the school to hear isn't a fabulous start for us."

George pulled away and planted both hands on his face, stifling an exclamation of his frustration.

"Right," He said uncomfortably "Right."

The silence that followed this was so strong it was perceptible. He moved forward very slowly, almost as if one didn't want to startle the other. With an almost infuriating softness, he wrapped both arms tightly around his brothers' neck. They stood in that embrace for an excruciating minute.

"Things aren't going back to normal, Georgie." Fred whispered.

After a moment George smiled into his twin's neck.

"Good," He murmured back.

They took every possible moment to themselves. More often than not, they were aching for more than was given to them, but they had little more option than to sneak what they could, when they could. Their attraction, in the very same manner as their hostility, became unspoken. They were starting to push boundaries.

The night was thick with mist and owlcry, an eerie diluted moonlight casting over the common rooms. Fred stared upwards into the glow, occasionally glancing to where his brother slept. For an implacable reason, it brought back memories. He could not be sure all were sleeping here. To rise and find his brother would be a risk near folly. George, however, found him. He rode his impulses much more closely than his twin.

He fell almost silently over his brother and pressed him into a kiss. Fred tried desperately to stifle the reflexive intake of breath that came with it. In only a moment he fell into the moment with his brother and let the sound die into a sigh in his throat. He pushed him, only slightly, and whispered against his cheek,

"Bloody hell mate, what sort of subtlety is that?"

"I think about this most nights, Freddie," George murmured back, "And you wouldn't be awake right now if you didn't too." Fred choked a bit. His twin read him so clearly. It made him nervous. To drop the artificial barrier between them had a lot of implications. He kissed him again, the world around him melted a little. It made it easier to think, as if in a quiet room alone. When the embrace ended however, and the heat of the moment and weight of reality swirled back he lost conscious thought.

Fred abruptly sat up and swung his legs over the bed. It groaned in protest and George winced, very aware of the people that surrounded him. Fred, however, seemed to take no notice. He grabbed the latter's wrist and tugged him competently through the dimness to the door. He opened and shut it with surprising ease and silence, considering his speed. In another moment he had him pressed up against it, each hand planted roughly on his brother's shoulders. The gasp George made in surprise was stifled, and sounded raw and trapped in his throat.

"Godric, Freddie," He coughed when they roughly parted. Fred pushed against his twin again and his head hit base of the wood with a harsh thunk. He slid a hand tense with energy along the flesh of his brother's torso. "B-bloody hell, mate," George responded.

He continued, undeterred. The skin under his palm felt as if it were giving off an unnatural heat, and he wondered if it were his brother's or his own. Something of the way it convulsed in anticipation to his approach, the way the body it belonged to shuddered… It felt absolutely forbidden to him; and when he dropped to his knees to kiss that oh-so-susceptible flesh… he realized it was.

Almost apologetically, he began to undo his twin's pants, (to which George was stunned and agitated,) and he had to remind himself to have a drop more moral objection to this next time. He nearly chuckled, (but did not, for fear of startling his brother,) as he thought;

_Next time…_


End file.
